Buddha and Prayer

I love to read about Buddhism but when I pray I'm calling on God. I'm thinking of God. I created a sanctuary space not long ago for sacred words and images, quotes and books and music. A place to do some yoga, sit for a minute, reflect or journal. I don't have to decide if the water in an ocean is better than the water in a lake before dipping my toes into both. So, my toes travel a lot through spiritual and religious traditions.

Anyhow, my favorite reading of late is from Sharon Salzberg's Loving Kindness: The Revolutionary Art of Happiness. There's a paragraph that reads like this on page 24-25:

"Once, when someone described to the Dalai Lama how much fear they were experiencing in their meditation practice, he said, "When you're afraid, just put your head in the lap of the Buddha." The lap of the Buddha epitomizes the safety of a true friendship. The culmination of metta is to become such a friend to oneself and all of life."

As my daughter says, "I don't like it Mama. I love it!"

This and That

Lunch with My Daughter
Though I've been a stay-at-home mother for three and a half years now, I can honestly say that yesterday is the first day my daughter and I went out to lunch. We've eaten together, been together at lunch in public and at home. But yesterday, after an appointment and before pre-school, we had an hour. We went to lunch.

She sat across the table from me. She did not climb over or under the table. She drank from her own cup and had her own meal. She talked. She colored. I talked. I day dreamed. I paid. I didn't cut her food. She didn't spill her drink. I didn't pull her coat up and off of the rug. She didn't ask me to carry her in or out or sit on my lap. We sat there at a booth where we ate lunch together. It was bittersweet. She's growing up. It's wonderful. She's growing up. It's sad. I miss my baby. I love my girl.

Black is a "boy's color" according to my daughter. "I like a boy's color," she confesses while painting with black. I'm not sure if I tried, "Why do you think it's a boy's color?" before saying, "There are no colors belonging to either gender."

My friends all laughed because my daughter practically bathes in the color pink. I wanted all green and yellow clothes at the baby shower. Hey, we were open to adopting a boy or a girl and there are SOME babies who are boys and in orphanages in China and besides, why did a girl always have to wear pink. Two weeks of "How old is he?" and I was practically french braiding her bald spots. Inexplicable even to me.

No green. I'm a liar. I had decided it was important to celebrate all our cultural traditions. But still, no corn beef and cabbage in this house on St. Patrick's Day. Even worse, I didn't wear green. I did get nostalgic about the Shamrock shakes, think about the Irish names on both sides of my family but there was no green even in the grass around here last week. My babysitter called me on it having seen the transformation of our home for Chinese New Year. Oh yeah, other cultural traditions? Well, tomorrow we're going to a festival where we'll learn about and celebrate the Kaz culture. I'm excited.

One of Kai's friends, who is very curious about adoption and why families are different sizes asked me on Weds. why there are so many kids in the world. Where there are people there are kids. I couldn't get under what he was really asking. Maybe there wasn't another question that day. Maybe the answer was o.k. It felt like words got said but we missed the real conversation. An image came on a t.v. or something. Why can't public spaces be t.v. free? I don't care what people do in their homes and mini-vans but I despise seeing t.v.'s in the mall. I feel old fashioned but I'm thinking, "Stop blasting me with images," - it feels an intrusion.

I'm Sick of THE SECRET

O.k., so I bought the book. I bought the book because someone in my writing group has been transformed by this book and video. She is so motivated, passionate and action-oriented. She is feeling positive and alive and driven. I'm so happy for her and impressed.

Since I have never been accused of being an optimistic, since I did find the Oprah shows on The Secret interesting, since I am trying to be more open minded at 40 - well, I gave it a shot.

Here's my truth. I am a person who WANTS to be complicated, who embraces the full range of emotions. I am not going to shut out every non-manifesting positive thought in the hopes of attaining more stuff in my life. It's not that I think perky and happy people are less socially conscious, though I admit that is a fear, as once one suffers it does seem to make them a touch more sympathetic to the suffering of others. But, with more energy, focus and drive, who wouldn't be even more of a helper to the world? Oprah may spend a lot of money on fine sheets but she certainly uses her wealth to make change as well. It seems possible for some to be living an abundant life AND socially aware.

Not me. I am not comfortable saying some thoughts and emotions are acceptable and some aren't, that while there are people who are magnets to crisis - they "attracted" it and that a failure to succeed is a failure to manifest with the imagination. I do not think starving babies have a failure of imagination or that their parents are not well acquainted with the secret.

However, I'm happy that some people find a dose of optimism and I admit that a focus on gratitude is necessary and life-changing. However, I spent my childhood denying and having to deny neglect, abuse and trying to focus on what we did have. It did not make people in my life more optimistic but more oblivious. So, for me, it is a radical political act to be honest and truthful about the good, bad and the ugly. And for me, some of my most painful experiences have informed my sharing from the heart, my volunteer work based not on feeling bad for others in a patronizing way but feeling bad with others and knowing how bad it feels to not have what one needs.

When I am in pain or am struggling I do need validation and not a perky pep talk. As soon as I allow the truth of what I feel in and can voice it, it begins a natural and organic transformation. Deny it and it stays underground and gets bigger and bigger until an ugly mood seems to be swimming in the blood coursing through my body. Nope. My secret is to be more accepting, to allow more and then to let go. And to try to be more grateful for what is already glorious and perfect which of course is everything!

Sick is No Fun

If you sipped coffee, ate breakfast, lunch and dinner and all that you took in stayed on the inside of your body you had a better day than I. Let me just take a moment to thank my belly for all of the days it works so well. I have taken this for granted and a stomach flu brought me to a hunching walk and barely able to move from the couch.

I have prided myself on being the girl who drinks pickle juice, goes on rides that make teenagers think twice and who can, well, pack away a meal. But, today I was that one who feels oogy and woozy and flu-ish and ICK. My husband was home because he had the flu. Not a stomach flu but the flu where you have shivers so hard it looks like an aerobic activity.

Our daughter LOVES "Ohana time" with the family and thought of it as a fun day at home. None of us dressed today. We did take turns feeding and entertaining our child but we never made it out of the house or into clothes. I'd complain more but a tear friend ended up in the hospital with a much more vicious strain of this stomach bug and I so feel for her. She's home now but it was a LONG night for her. At least my husband and I could take turns napping, taking temperatures and being the sick one and and the caregiver.

Conversation went from talking about my dreams of Al Gore who was so sad about the environment and losing the election, discussing poor staffing at hospitals where my friend didn't even get a private bathroom while being sick as a dog so had to be in the hallway to then discussing which American Idol contestant looks like a Backyardigan.

I really knew I was sick when my daughter wanted to sew a craft and I said sure and showed her how. I don't really sew. I'm not known for my domestic side which makes my being a stay-at-home feminist kind of funny. I am not a person you would have thought would be home. I did not know I would be home. I had no idea how exhausting it was to pay attention. Apparently, sorry former co-workers, I used to work hard but not pay much attention to others. I am sure I listened adequately but the kind of paying attention and being 'on" that a parent has to do is something I had no idea about. But, since sitting was the most I could manage today, and since I was weak, when my daughter asked me to help her thread a needle I did. She was so proud to have sewed all by herself. "I'm a big girl now" is what she says several times a day while still asking for me to feed her a bottle so she can be a baby.

Yesterday she told me that she didn't want to share my lap, that it was hers, and that she didn't like how I had held my friend's baby the day before. We talked. I couldn't promise that I'd never hold another baby but could reassure her that no other child sitting in my lap would be her, be my daughter or take HER place. Kids are so honest. I'm so glad she tells me how she feels. I can't believe four-year olds have so many feelings.

Anyhow, our girl was so kind to her sickly and paler than usual parental figures today. She only jumped on my belly a few times and needed the "love shouldn't hurt" talk a few times. She was so understanding when I couldn't play play-doh because it smelled too strong.

I am a mother through adoption so I wonder how the heck single parents do it, how women deal with pregnancy while parenting one or more do it, how on earth couples manage when both have chronic health issues do any kind of parenting and managing.

Feeling more like a human on this end of the day but am SO SO SO SO SO grateful and am hoping that when I sip water tomorrow, I sip and I swallow as opposed to sipping and waiting, sipping and waiting. Hopes and gratitudes get simple, clear and small when I don't feel well. So often I take the gift of decent health for granted. While I'd rather be more grateful WHILE healthy, I'll take the gratitude. Thank you stomach for all those countless days where I didn't once even think than you!

What's An Adoption Question?

I am so afraid I'll project and read too much into the questions and comments of my daughter. I'm am so afraid I will fail to notice the significance of a question or a comment.

My daughter is in the "I Love You" phase and so many times a day she says "I love you" in notes, in sentences, in sign language. But, sometimes she is so filled up she'll say something that stops me. The other day she said, "I love you so much I'm never going to give you away as presents."

"Thanks?" "I love you too?" "I'm never going to give you away either?"

NO. These do not suffice. "Oh sweetie, I love you so much too. But you couldn't give us away even if you wanted. We're your parents. You're stuck with us."

Too light? Not serious enough? Too serious.

I ask a bio mom, parent to three, did your kids ever say things like that?

"No," she says as though I asked if her children walked on their hands into pre-school class.

"How do I know?" I say, "I just want to make sure I"m not projecting."
"You aren't," she says.

Reassured isn't what I feel. What I do feel is inept, determined and grateful. The love of this little girl is so precious to me. When and how she makes sense of her story isn't going to be linear, scripted or by a book.

Not news to anyone who has been a parent I'm sure. Still news to me three and half years in.

16 Years

We celebrate the day of our first kiss. It was sixteen years ago, in the middle of the night, while Bob Dylan's Isis played in the background. We were in Florida. Here we are now, having a beautiful inside day, sharing cards and dinner. Our daughter got each of us anniversary cards which were adorable. We all "clanked" drinks at dinner having some "ohana" time. I am so lucky to be with a man who is passionate about his work, an activist career man and a talented poet. She's down-to-earth, optimistic and philosophical. He's sentimental and caring. A gratitude-filled day. My daughter wasn't feeling well and what was going to be a very busy active and social day turned into a beautiful, calm, peaceful, fun, crafty "do nothing" day. Agh...
Because I'm at home so often, I can lapse into "family time" feeling a lot like "my job" - the one I do all week. The older my daughter gets, the more family time is a true treasure I enjoy and not only "suck it up" for. That sounds harsh. But, for the first two years of parenthood I longed for alone time, a break from being on, from stepping away from my day dreaming and being so attentive and caring and careful. Mothering is a skill I worked hard to learn and while I have and had a lot of love waiting to be poured it took a while before my hand got steady.

Writing from the Heart Assignment - I Wasn't Invited

Nancy Slonim-Aronie leads writing workshops in Chilmark, MA. She also has a "Writing From the Heart" radio show on Lime. She gives assignments and people submit work, read on the show and get feedback. She believes that EVERY PERSON has a story. She believes that all writers will improve when encouragaed, when voices are not silenced but instead encouraged and that people will take greater risks when they feel safe. She provides a safe environment at her workshops and has people write. She has a book, "Writing from the Heart" that has been out for quite a while and is a wise, eccentric and wonderful woman.

I love listening to her show and had the opportunity, with my writing group, to be on her show last week. Here's what I read.

I Wasn’t Invited
Tuesday came to me and said, “I’m here”. I said, “I’m busy. Come back later.” When Weds. arrived I was doing the laundry. Her sister showed up on Thursday and the dishes needed to be done. When Fri. approached I was sleeping in. I was so tired from being so busy. I planned to make up for the week on the weekend but decided I could just start on Monday with healthier eating, regular writing and two minutes of butt down on the ground meditation and for sure that gratitude list.

But there were cramps, PMS, the crisis of someone else so much more important and really, what’s another week-month-year when you’ve waited this long?

I went to an alternative college without class requirements of grades, where you studied and learned out of love – the love of learning. The key was to master modes of thinking so that you could become an expert on any subject. Under the engine of my will I thrived. I skipped through the social sciences, made a home for myself in the humanities and discovered that cognitive science could help me understand the way the brain communicates. Natural Sciences was less lab, more nature - the formulation of a cloud a fascination for someone. But there were lessons I missed.

This feminist is a stay-at-home mother, a middle-aged spouse and a type-a home owner. How not to be crushed under the weight of endless tasks, responsibilities and to-dos? How to inhabit a moment more fully? No one tells a mother to take a rest except another mother and we say we will and we mean to but we don’t.

But that’s not it, not all of it. I was trained to get by, get through, and get over. I built my muscles on bearing it, cut my teeth counting on the future and got strong on singing the someday song. I can walk fast, multi-task and look towards the horizon.

But I wasn’t invited to the present. In the past, the present was a nightmare, a never-ending assault, a predictable punch, a routine trauma. Every survivor skill in me says stay busy, keep moving, don’t be a target, Even alone I scold – don’t think-linger-dwell. Anger at others could cause an explosion. Anger at self can fuel a new get-away plan.

These skills aren’t helping me be in this very moment, where the safety and security I’ve worked so hard for actually exist. I pat my husband’s back instead of leaning into a bear hug squeeze, I “in a minute, in a minute” my daughter more times than I intend, and miss out on the richness in my collage of friendships.

I store up birthday cards promising to read them later. I keep them in a trunk, like someone saving empty cans after the depression in case I need them later. I store love in other places and wonder why I don’t feel full of it now.

In this cute cottage by the ocean where I saw a seal sitting on a rock last Saturday, I promised myself more. At night I’ll light a candle, say a wish and gratitude, stare into the flicker of a flame through the closed eye of prayer. I’ll feel the night, breathe into the world and turn the engine off. But I forget to remember. I stick to busy like taffy to teeth.

She walks along behind me, the present, a patient ghost whispering “Stay still. Sit back. Surrender” Can I trust her? Who will I be if I merge with the moment? What will I cling to, look at, work towards? If I lose my motor will I still go?

She’s patient, thank god and kind. She says, “I don’t issue invitations. I’m not an occasion. I’m always here and can wait for you to arrive. I’ve got time on my side.”

It’s a new learning I need, the college of self-care, a BA in being and a certificate for stillness. Monday. Maybe I’ll start Monday…

Mothers and Daughters

I was mothered by a woman who didn't give birth to me today. She listened while I talked and even welled up some with tears. We had a cheese sandwich. She called to make sure I got home o.k.

My daughter had a physical therapy assessment today. She might have a disability which, if she does have it, she already has it. So, knowing will be helpful. She said, "I love _____," who she had just met - the woman who stretched her limbs, tested tone and mobility. She trusts who she trusts and loves who she loves. Sometimes it is someone she just met. Sometimes it is not someone she has known for years.

I asked my mother for space. She wrote me a few emails saying she would give it to me. Each email made me more angry. I can't keep her from writing them. I can decide if I want to open them or respond.

My daughter is in the stage where she says, "watch me, watch me," as she is in the process of learning something. Right now, she can do six cylces of hula hooping. She LOVES to try harder and harder and harder and see if she can hula longer and longer and longer. So sweet and tender and tenacious.

Gratitude for warmth today, for friends, for a house full of love, food and blankets. Breathing. A friend asked, "Are you breathing?" I am now.